


When Flesh Obscures the Soul

by afreezingnote



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, End!verse, Implied Drug Use, M/M, POV Castiel, POV Second Person, implied Cas/other, implied Dean/other, strange perspective, with a bittersweet ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:39:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afreezingnote/pseuds/afreezingnote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a 2014 that Zachariah never sends 2009!Dean to, and this is how Dean and Cas's last night on earth goes:</p><p>“Our fearless leader and I have never had sex.”</p><p>“You’re kidding, right?” she says. “You can tell me.”</p><p>You sit up. You don’t want to talk about this, but you’re smoking the girl’s cigarettes so you can’t tell her to leave you alone.</p><p>“I’m not kidding.”</p><p>“Oh,” she breathes as she props her head on her hand to keep you in her line of sight. “But you’re in love with him. Does he know?”</p><p>You sigh and draw your knees to your chest. You’re certain he does. How could he not? You say, “I’m sure he doesn't care.”</p><p>You can feel her eyes on your face, and you wish you were smoking something stronger than tobacco.</p><p>“I think you’re wrong,” she says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Flesh Obscures the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> End!verse, second person, Castiel POV, implied drug use, implied Dean/other, and implied Cas/other, assumed/temporary unrequited love, bittersweet sex, no mention of past!Dean, but they’re going to walk willingly into the same trap anyway.
> 
> This hasn't been edited yet. I sent it to my editor and then added some things after rereading, and I hit the wrong button, which posted this instead of saving it.
> 
> I wrote this in fits and starts during breaks between classes and sometimes during class (learning to be a teacher has made me an awful student), so I don't know how good this is altogether. I also have no idea why it came out in second person, but so it goes.

 

 

_"But remember when I moved in you  
_ _And the holy dove was moving too  
_ _And every breath we drew was Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah  
_ _Hallelujah  
_ _Hallelujah  
_ _Hallelujah_  

_Maybe there's a God above  
_ _But all I've ever learned from love  
_ _Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya_

_And it's not a cry that you hear at night  
_ _It's not somebody who's seen the light  
_ _It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah”_

\--Leonard Cohen

You wonder, sometimes, what his soul looks like now. It was damaged but still glorious in the pit. You think not even 40 years with Alastair could compare to the knowledge of his brother’s destruction with a single word. You watch a girl follow him into his cabin, another victim to his veneer of charm. You take a pull on the cigarette between your lips and hold the smoke in your lungs until in hurts. The girl beside you shifts onto her side to look at you.

“So, how long have you been together?”

You know that you’ve been caught looking. You always seem to get caught looking at him, but you pretend not to know what she means.

“What are you talking about?” you ask after another drag.

“You and Dean. You’re lovers.”

You snort. You can’t help yourself, and there’s an edge of contempt you wish wasn’t there.

“Our fearless leader and I have never had sex.”

“You’re kidding, right?” she says. “You can tell me.”

You sit up. You don’t want to talk about this, but you’re smoking the girl’s cigarettes so you can’t tell her to leave you alone.

“I’m not kidding.”

“Oh,” she breathes as she props her head on her hand to keep you in her line of sight. “But you’re in love with him. Does he know?”

You sigh and draw your knees to your chest. You’re certain he does. How could be not? You say, “I’m sure he doesn’t care.”

You can feel her eyes on your face, and you wish you were smoking something stronger than tobacco.

“I think you’re wrong,” she says. “He doesn’t feel anything for the girls he fucks. You don’t either. You don’t even enjoy it, but I think that’s why you do it. I think he does it because he loves you and it scares him.”

You laugh, and you hate that you laugh because the idea of the righteous man you pulled from hell loving someone now, especially you, seems ludicrous. And that aches. It reminds you that you’ve given everything for nothing. Your laugh makes you sound crazy, but you don’t give a shit.

“I mean that even if you don’t believe it,” she says. “Tell me something.” You make a noise to prompt her to continue. “Is it true what they say about you—that you’re an angel?”

You drop your legs to stretch them out in front of you. It eases the tension in your shoulders that seems more acute now that you’re thinking of your wings, now phantom limbs. You look at her, finally. She’s sharper than many who come to you. Or at least she isn’t willfully ignorant, and that’s something you haven’t encountered in a while. You think,  _what the hell—what does it matter what the hippy junkie says?_

“I was the angel Castiel.”

“Was?”

“I fell.”

“From Heaven?”

You wonder if she’s about to hit you with that tired pick up line, but you answer anyway.

“Yes, from Heaven. From grace.”

She surprises you. She asks, “Why?”

You stamp out the nub of cigarette on the ground next to you before you say, “I wanted to save the world.”

…

When he sets a map in front of you and talks about his plan to kill the devil, you wonder if he thinks you’re too stupid to know it’s a trap. You question him, a little angry, and he only confirms his plan. But then he asks if you’re coming, and you understand. He knows you know. He wouldn’t say anything if you said no.

You say, “Of course.”

…

He comes to your cabin later and finds you alone. He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t meet your eyes. You step into his space and he doesn’t move.

“Dean?” you say.

He looks at you. He seems younger, years younger, because there’s expression in his eyes. You almost expect it when he kisses you. You melt into it, though you feel conflicted, irritated about it. If he’s felt this too, all this time, why should you give in to him now after he’s denied you for years? But you can’t resist him. You’ve craved this like an itch in your blood, stronger than the pull of any drug. You moan against his mouth as your hands circle around him, one curling into his hair and the other cupping his neck. You pull apart for a moment, foreheads touching, gasping in each other’s breath, and then you dive in again, your lips meeting his in a desperate crash.

You fall into bed. He strips you with a patient reverence you didn’t think he’d be capable of any longer, kisses you everywhere, and opens you up gently. You come for the first time with his fingers crooking inside you. He plants a kiss at the meeting place of your thigh and your abdomen and smiles at your panting. You’ve never felt so undone in intimacy.

You welcome him into your body, and you think you might have cried as he moved in you. You think he might have cried too, but amid the other bodily fluids shared between you, you can’t be sure.

… 

When you wake up, he’s gone. You have a vague memory of lips on your temple and words whispered in your ear as you fluttered on the edge of consciousness before falling asleep again.

…

You watch him as the group prepares to leave. The man who made love to you is shuttered away behind a mask of crisp authority. You wonder if you imagined it all. You’re content to take a separate car to confront your brother, who will be smugly wearing the shell of Dean’s brother like an adornment. Thinking of it makes your stolen skin itch, but you shrug it off, knowing your injustice to Jimmy Novak will soon come to an end permanently. On the way, you think it’s funny your favorite memory took place in hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I love end!verse so much. I have so many bits of fic laying about for this 'verse, including one that would probably be longish if I ever let it out. I don't think this one is quite as sad as is standard, but sometimes (who am I kidding--constantly) I just want this Castiel to have at least a moment of reprieve.


End file.
